


Our Unsteady Hearts

by night_reveals



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Betrayal, Cunnilingus, F/M, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/pseuds/night_reveals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie catches a Monroe boy (and puts him to good use).</p><p>"The woods here are familiar to Charlie, the grass spongy underfoot and the greenery a stretching, leafy wall that hides her from the view of animals both large and small."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Unsteady Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in Revolution fandom. Not sure how much I like either Nate or Charlie right now, but damn, JD Pardo is sexy. In 1x02, Charlie catches him following her and trusses him up with handcuffs, which is such a chance -- CHARLIE, HIT THAT, HIT THAT NOW. Anyway, she didn't hit that in the TV show, so I've taken it upon myself to rectify the writers' mistake there. It's obviously a bit ridiculous, but does wrap back around to canon. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, as no one I know is actually in this fandom. Feel free to point out mistakes to @nightreveals on twitter.

The woods here are familiar to Charlie, the grass spongy underfoot and the greenery a stretching, leafy wall that hides her from the view of animals both large and small. The soft hush of crickets accompanies her movements through the trees, a constant background noise broken only by the rare crackling leaf. Her brown leather jacket blends with the bark she passes, and her hair covers the pink, noticeable skin at her nape and throat. 

Since she was eleven years old, Charlie has hunted in woods and clearings such as these. She knows the cadence of the swallowtail, and how to find a nest filled with eggs. She knows the signs of rabbit and hare: nibbled leaves and hidden warrens, broken sticks strewn here and there. She knows the flight response of a doe, and how loud she can be before it sprints off into the forest, never to be seen again. Charlie has hunted in woods like these for years, which is why she knows that she has become someone’s prey.

Whoever they are, subtlety is not their strong point. The first time Charlie hears the crackles of a dry leaf a hundred feet back, she notes it absently, cataloguing the possibility of larger game in this forest. The second time she hears it, the same distance away as it was before, she stills, knowing she is followed.

Once, she would have guessed it to be a wary local tailing her to ascertain her intentions, but she now realizes that she can no longer believe in coincidence. Someone is tracking her, probably a Monroe boy; probably Nate, though there is no guarantee. Her saving grace is that whoever is following her, there is only one, possibly two — any more and there would be no need for stalking, for they would run her down instead. 

Trekking forward, Charlie waits for her chance. It comes in the form of a concrete wall and a nine foot drop next to a rusting car and a phone stand, the metal bar holding it up perfectly for what she is planning. She lands heavily to play up her vulnerability, crying out as soon as she touches the dirt. For a moment she thinks the act was for nothing, until a scuffling noise comes from the trees, underbrush being flattened by clumsy feet.

Nate appears, slipping out of the woods, frowning down from the top of the wall. Annoyed, Charlie notes that he is as beautiful as she remembered, muscle stretching his shirt and smooth skin catching the sun. 

“You?” she cries out, her surprise not entirely feigned.

“Better take a look at it,” is all Nate says, still frowning as he drops his pack down the wall before following himself, landing lightly nearby. 

She tells him she doesn’t need his help, which is not a lie. Predictably, her words don’t dissuade him in the slightest. The steel of the handcuffs blaze in Charlie’s palm, vibrating with her readiness. When Nate goes to a knee in front of her, gently taking her foot in hand, Charlie is on him, circling his wrist and then the phone pole with the handcuffs. 

“Charlie,” he yells, scrabbling after her, his fingers getting a bite of her pants before they lose their grip, the leather slippery and worn. Charlie digs her feet into the dusty ground, readying herself to kick away, but she is too late. 

Nate drags her back with a hand on her ankle, and her fingers score into the ground, her nails filling up with dirt. Nate huffs out in pain when her boot connects with his ribs and thigh, but he doesn’t let go.

“Don’t touch me,” cries out Charlie, endorphins forcing her voice higher than usual. At her front is a wicked hunting knife for skinning game, but Nate forces her face-first into the ground, trapping one of her hands beneath her. His body lines up with hers as he settles on top, his hand gripping her shoulder stiffly because of the handcuff. 

A breeze whisks the dusty air away, and above Charlie, Nate clears his throat. “Are you okay?” he asks, incongruous with the way his body looms over hers. 

“Get the hell off of me,” she says, hissing the words.

“Sorry.” An awkward silence follows, Nate pulling his hips back so that he is no longer pressing her lower body down. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re militia,” replies Charlie, the only thing she needs to know.

“We’re not all evil.”

“Could have fooled me.” To make her point, Charlie flexes her right hand, which Nate has a firm grip on. 

Nate breathes out, the exhale hitting Charlie’s ear. “If I let you go, will you — ” 

Charlie chooses then to move, rolling and twisting out from under him, getting on her back so she has full use of her knife. Nate tries to regain control, falling on top of her, one arm at her torso and one at her shoulder, but this time it’s too late for him. 

“Don’t move.” Charlie presses the steel into Nate’s throat, his skin dimpling round its edge. 

Nate freezes, eyes widening in shock before a small smile blooms on his face.

“What’re you smiling at?” Charlie demands.

“You.” The movement of his throat forces his skin onto the blade, and a red, beading line opens under his Adam’s apple. “You with a knife — it’s sexy.”

“You’re not taking me seriously.” 

The smile drops from Nate’s face. “I can tell you’ve never killed before.” He gazes down at Charlie, steady even though he’s bleeding more now from where she’s holding the knife to his throat. “It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Charlie pulls her lip back in annoyance that he read her so easily, then slowly withdraws the knife, waiting to see what he does. He stays completely still above her until she puts a light hand at his shoulder and pushes. He goes easily, following her lead.

“Your throat.” Charlie gestures to where she cut him.

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “I shouldn’t have pinned you like that.” His eyes travel over her body, but they’re not overeager, merely assessing. 

“I’m fine,” says Charlie, responding to the unasked question. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

Nate nods slowly, keeping any doubts at her words to himself. Charlie stands, pacing back and forth in the dust. 

“Why are you still following me?” 

“Orders.”

“‘Orders’,” mocks Charlie.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you,” repeats Nate, sounding frustrated. He raises a hand to his bleeding neck and wipes, adding drolly, “Though maybe I should be the one worrying about that.” 

“If you’d kept your mouth shut, you’d be fine.”

“You sound like my sister.” Nate grins, eyes going far away for a moment. 

“You call your sister sexy?”

Nate drops his eyes down Charlie’s body, this time blatantly giving her a once over. He looks serious as he does it, appreciative, and instead of wanting to punch him, Charlie finds herself fighting a blush. He must notice it, but he doesn’t comment. “No. I don’t find my sister sexy. I’m not from one of the southern republics.”

“Our town doctor is from Texas and she says none of that stuff really happens,” Charlie shoots back.

Eyes sparkling, Nate argues with her, and soon enough they’re talking and taking pot shots at the other as the sun crests in the sky, beating down on them both. Nate is still hooked to the pole, seemingly content with the position as he eventually falls to sit on the ground. Charlie follows, taking a seat just outside his range of motion.

Nate pisses her off. He’s funny, smart, protective. If he isn’t lying about having one in the first place, he loves his family, especially his older sister. He saved Charlie, and seems to like her: not only like looking at her, but like talking to her, hearing her speak, so different from the boys in her town. 

And he’s Militia. A Monroe boy. She tries to remind herself of that when she catches herself grinning at him.

It’s been at least a half hour since she snared her prey, and Charlie has to get going. She grabs her bag and unrolls the small packet of medicine within, taking a tentative step towards Nate, who keeps his position on the ground, staring up at her. 

“We should put some of this on your neck,” she says.

“Don’t waste it.” Nate shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

His protest only make Charlie more adamant in her desire to help, and she carefully slinks closer to him, one hand on her knife and one on the medicine. Nates sighs and cocks his head to the side, exposing his nape completely to her. His skin is slightly darker than hers, and this close she can examine his curved eye shape, a bit like Xu’s back home in the Estates. As Charlie cleans his cut of dried blood, she wonders where Nate’s parents and grandparents were from. As a child after the Blackout, she had lessons on the Lighted Time and its governments and laws and countries, the arbitrary lines that marked where one territory began and another ended. Which country had Nate’s family come from? The question seems all of a sudden too personal when she has his blood on her hands, so she swallows it.

Charlie presses at the small white bandage she affixed to his neck. “All done,” she announces.

“Hey,” says Nate from only a handbreadth away, his eyes warm in the high sun. “Thank you.”

Charlie’s “Sure,” is covered up by sudden lips against hers, soft and brief. 

Nate pulls back an inch, waiting for something that doesn’t come. He repeats, “Thank you,” and ducks in to kiss her again — only this time she meets him halfway, surging forward, opening her mouth against his. His lips are full, a little chapped but patient and warm, and he seems content to follow Charlie’s wishes, kissing faster or falling to a slow, lazy exploration as she does.

At last, Charlie lets her hand go to his chest, slipping underneath his long button-up to rest at his stomach, right on top of his henley. The muscle underneath her hand is firm, taut, and Charlie inhales sharply into the kiss, running her fingers over his front slowly. Nate groans, biting at his own lip, his fists curling at his sides.

“Can I?” he asks, waving his free hand once. 

“Yeah.” Charlie takes his hand and places it at her side, threading it under her leather jacket, where it sits hot with only her tshirt between it and her skin. 

They return to kissing, the exchange more heated now, small nips joining the sweet press of lips, Charlie taking Nate’s bottom lip under her teeth and sucking at it. Nate gathers her against him with one arm, breathing heavily into the kiss, and she shudders at the feel of his body so close. 

“Is it okay if I — ” starts Nate, before he’s distracted by dropping kisses at her throat.

“What?” asks Charlie, pupils blown wide with arousal and her hand resting on Nate’s head and under his shirt, playing with the line of his pants. 

“I want — I want to put my mouth on you.”

“You _are_ putting your mouth on me.” Charlie smiles and kisses him, a playful smack of lips. 

“I mean,” says Nate slowly, dragging his hand out from under her jacket and moving it down, down until it rests right at the apex of her thighs, his fingers lightly pressing against her center. “I want to put my mouth here.” 

The gasp is out of Charlie’s mouth too fast for her to catch. All of the blood in her body must be draining from her head, because she feels lightheaded and giddy, Nate’s serious face limned in sunlight. She’s no innocent, of course — she’s given and received such fun back at the Estates from boys, but this is different, the slight hint of danger surrounding Nate making her wary. She examines his face, trying to see what makes him tick. He follows orders from Monroe, but he saved her; he pulled a knife on her uncle, but he used an arrow to kill men for her. If it came down to only her between Uncle Miles and he, would Nate hurt her to follow his orders? Charlie doesn’t know. 

“Keep your knife out, if you want.” From where he’s still sitting, he nods to the steel, which she let fall to the ground next to a creeping vine. He could grab it, but instead he cuts his eyes away, ignoring it.

Maybe the answers to her questions don’t matter right now. She’s wet between the thighs, hot from more than the sun, and he’s offering. He’ll gain nothing from doing this; he’s had more than one opportunity to try and hurt her, already. Decision made, Charlie flips the knife up off the ground then buries it blade first, taking off her jacket to lay it under her hips and protect her bare skin from the dirt.

“So, you gonna let me have both hands for this?” Nate rattles the handcuff around the metal telephone poll.

“No chance at all.” Charlie smirks and shimmies the leather at her thighs down. The bleached white underwear she has on is old, one of five identical pairs. 

“Come here,” says Nate in a rough voice, free hand gripping her naked thigh, staring at her flesh. Scooting forward an inch or two, she smirks up. Nate licks his lips, eyebrow creasing in frustration. “More.” 

“How about you work for it?” Propping her body up on her forearms, Charlie lays back, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. It’ll be dirty when this is over, but she doubts she’ll care at that point. 

Nate flicks his serious eyes up to her face, taking her at her challenge. One hand he rests at her skin, pushing her shirt up to above her bellybutton, tracing with a finger the trail of light blonde hair that runs through her center. Her legs are only a few feet apart, her clothes not allowing much give, but there’s enough room for him to bend over and lick at her bellybutton. 

“Nate.” Charlie brings a hand to his shaved head in surprise.

“Ticklish?” he asks, dark eyes finding hers over her stomach. He licks again, going a little lower this time, patient over the delicate skin she’s let him touch. All of a sudden, the last thing she feels is ticklish.

“Keep going.” She cups a hand over his ear, rubbing at his hair and watching intently as he gets closer to the worn elastic band holding up her underwear. He reaches the line, licking at the skin there, eyes closed like he’s savoring, though her skin must be slightly salty from running. Her last quick dip in a nearby stream had been several hours ago, right before she’d set off for the morning. Nate doesn’t seem to mind, if he notices at all.

He can’t get her panties off because he only has one hand, so it falls to her to edge them down. The whole time, Nate stares like there’s a secret there he’s desperate not to miss. The change is marked from his usual stoicism, and Charlie can’t help playing with him a little, resting the fabric right on her hipbones until he inhales sharply.

“Charlie,” he says warningly, voice thick. “I want to see you.” 

As soon as her underwear hits her thighs, exposing her light brown curls to the sun, Nate freezes, teeth biting his lower lip, his face almost pained.

“You okay?” she asks, but he doesn’t respond with words. Instead he runs a hand down her stomach, tracing the same path his tongue took, the way slightly wet from spit. Charlie shudders, skin prickling. He doesn’t stop when he reaches her curls, gently raking his fingers through them until he reaches her wet center, where he rubs two fingers against her outer lips. 

“Don’t tease.” Charlie rocks her hips up, biting her own lip. “C’mon.” 

“Yes, m’am,” replies Nate hoarsely, gazing back at Charlie when he dips a finger into her, sliding it all the way in to the second knuckle. The small, slow stretch brings a breathy pant to Charlie’s lips, and she lets her head hang between her shoulders, her eyes closed. Movement at her front tells her Nate is bending over, and when she next opens her eyes it’s to his nose right above her clit. She sucks in a breath just in time.

His first lick is around his finger, at the slightly less sensitive skin of her outer lips, but even that sends her brain looping in her head. “Oh,” she says, pleasure forcing the word out of her.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nate’s breath hits her skin and she shivers, scratching her hands over his head, his hair soft under the pads of her fingers. The sun blankets them both, glinting off where Charlie is wet below and on Nate’s lips when he looks up at her. She uses her hand to spread herself open for him, and slowly he works his way in, licking teasingly and ignoring her clit completely. Charlie writhes on the ground, wishing she could open her legs all the way, wishing he had both hands to use so he could put one inside her while the other helped her. Reading her mind, he entreats, “Let me out.” 

“I don’t have the keys.” 

Nate huffs, unreadable. 

Charlie shakes her head. “I wouldn’t anyway.” 

“Smart of you,” he says, locking his eyes on hers. Before she can respond, he’s running his tongue over her, finally at her clit, soft first and then firm, and she forgets what she was worried about to begin with. Soon she’s moaning softly into the still air, hands on his head, canting her hips back and forth to get him right where she needs him. The orgasm builds sharply, Nate using two fingers inside of her now, pressing up into her kisses and licks. It’s second nature for her to keep quiet, most of her time spent in close proximity to her brother or some other family member, and so close to the forest she worries about animals and militia boys. Still Nate earns hiccups of pleasure and gasps from her, patiently drawing them out. Charlie chances a glance down at him, and he’s smiling as he works at her. 

“Keep — keep going,” she says, her muscles tensing, head buzzing with the possibility of orgasm, caught on the feel of his wet, soft tongue on her private skin. Smartly, Nate doesn’t respond, doubling down where he is, rubbing his thumb into her inner thigh hard enough that blood rushes to the surface. It heightens the moment, and Charlie bites out off a ragged moan when she comes, her body rippling under Nate’s mouth. 

He pins her, not allowing her to wiggle away so that he can keep going, and soon it’s ticklish again.

“Nate!” Charlie pushes at his head, laughing as she does. With one last lick, he rights himself, hand still gripping her hip as if he can’t bring himself to fully let her go. 

“I wish — ,” he starts thickly, licking his lips of her. 

“What?” asks Charlie, pulling up her pants quickly, belting them in place as soon as she can. Being out in the open is dangerous, and now that her head is clearer, she wonders what she was thinking.

“I wish you could call me by my real name.”

Coldness sweeps through Charlie.

Quick as a trap in the forest, she jumps up and back, knife loosely in hand. Nate — “Nate” — rises much more slowly, as if putting it off will keep her there longer. He’s awkward on two feet, the bulge between his legs obvious, but Charlie doesn’t care.

“‘Nate’ isn’t your real name?” 

It takes a moment for him to answer, and he doesn’t look away when he says, unreadable, “No.” With a single blink, his face goes harsh. “I’ve got orders.” The words sound rehearsed and wrong to Charlie, impersonal compared to Nate’s — to the man’s earlier stories of the strange southern districts. But maybe his orders are the truth and his stories are the lies, just as his name is a lie. 

“Well then. Sorry to leave you stranded,” Charlie says with a flippancy she doesn’t feel. “Places to go, people to see.” 

Nate stares as she walks backwards on unsteady legs, picking up her nearby pack on her way, hefting it over a shoulder. 

“So you’re just gonna leave me like this?” He tugs at his wrist and shifts, the movement highlighting his predicament. It makes Charlie want to laugh, really laugh like she hasn’t since her dad died on a sweet summer day — but it’s easy to swallow her laughter back down at that thought. Familiar anger floods her. This man may not have been there when the Militia killed her father and took her brother, but he’s still working for them; and here she is, talking, grinning, kissing like it means nothing when it means _everything_.

“Yeah. You’re such a crack soldier: you can figure a way out.”

Her uncle would kill him, and she hears the tiniest voice in her head, the one that just started up a day or so ago. One Monroe boy dead would mean one Monroe boy who’d never kill another father, steal another brother or sister. Tethered to the steel pole as he is, it’ll take Nate at least a few hours to get out without breaking his hand. Or she could send an arrow his way and watch him bleed out onto the dusty ground. He wouldn’t even have to suffer — Charlie always puts her kills out of their misery as quickly as she can. 

But she owes him his life, and she’ll live up in that. In return, she’ll only let herself have one question. Just one. Something to let her know whether she can trust him. 

“Why’d you save me?”

He never answers.


End file.
